


Fashionable

by claudiacarranza



Series: Cycles [1]
Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudiacarranza/pseuds/claudiacarranza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the cycles between Ragnarok roll forward, Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three have been sent to Midgard, reborn in the bodies of mortals. Meant to refind themselves, they are in a race against the clock as Loki, having been one of the few with his full memories, is out to muddle things. Can Thor and Sif find their relics and themselves in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashionable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coneycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coneycat/gifts).



> Yes. Yes. Yes. I changed the title. Sue me. I'm a woman. I have the right to change my mind without prior notice. :P

Designers and their need for models. As Fashion Week hemmed in, Donald Blake found himself with interview after interview, audition after casting call. Ten o'clock, Tiffany's. Breakfast at Tiffany's?? Good song buuut... Not quite. 

He walks in for his appointed time slot, portfolio in his large hands. An easy and warm smile graces his features as he is shown to a small but comfortable room to wait. Donald sat in the chair, fought back his nerves, and mentally went over what he knew of Tiffany's line , the type of clothes she makes (clothing line tends towards the more... elegant. Simple and clean lines. Accent colors or embroidery. Very little 'bling' per se. Always a celtic knot worked in somewhere though. A triquetra. Her 'signature'.), and so what body motions would best serve them. It isn't long before a man of similar build with green eyes and brown hair stalks out. 

"What a bitch..." Seeing Donald, he shakes his head. "Good luck man. Built like a Goddess but hard as steel."

Donald smiles at his competitor, hoping to show warmth in his stormy blue eyes. His attempt is interrupted by a blonde with the green eyes. She steps into the room and smiles flirtatiously at Donald. 

"Mister Blake? I'm Amy... Tiffany's ready to see you now. This way, please."

Donald stands and makes his way over, adjusting his over shirt quickly. The office is... definitely personalized. On the walls are pictures of various runes, a couple swords on display...

Tiffany herself sits behind an oak desk in a red business suit with a blue-grey cami on under the jacket. Her hair is pulled up in a coiled braid with a ponytail coming from the center.

"Tiffany? Your next appointment. Donald Blake. He looks--" Amy is cut off as the raven haired designer lifts her head. 

"Enough Amy. Thank you. You may go now."

(Don't react,)Oo. Donald tells himself as he settles his eyes on Tiffany. Amy, like every good PA, is mostly unimportant. The Designer is the Goddess of the room. Please her, and you'll never go hungry again! (Sorry, Lion King moment.)

Donald steps forward enough to let Amy out past him before he waits politely to be asked in further and to hand over his portfolio. He knows this dance. This will be the designer's first look at him, and so he makes sure to keep his body tall and straight, the line his frame make long and lean and elegantly simple, natural but poised. Tiffany takes several seconds to finish what she's doing before she finally looks up. 

"Mister Blake..." A split second pause as she gets her first look at him before she blinks, recovers and motions to a chair. 

"Please have a seat." She then holds her hand out, indicating she wants the portfolio.

Donald moves forward then, his shoulders back, and his chin proud. His eyes he keeps focused on Tiffany and he smiles to cover the bit of nervousness that always hits him when they request his portfolio. He's always afraid he picked the wrong pictures, or the agency gave him the wrong book - even if he double checked it himself - or that he'd forget each photo. 

Donald turned his hand over so that he was palm up when he gave her the book of pictures, so that Tiffany could see the roll of muscle under his tanned skin.

She's been doing this for quite some time now and never has she hesitated or even glanced at a potential model before... Until today... Taking the portfolio, there's a moment of hesitation before she pulls it away and sits it in front of her. Her head is lifted, silver-blue eyes meeting him and a brow arching. 

"Do you believe you will be able to show the clothes properly?" She hasn't even opened the portfolio yet.

"I'll do my best to sell your clothes and show them to their fullest," Donald says as he sits in the chair Tiffany indicated. He keeps eye contact and smiles past the nervousness. Smiles to cover the nervousness? Something. Because it's either a good thing or a bad thing when a designer doesn't even open your portfolio. Donald's had it go both ways before, and it's just nerve racking.

A hand is waved dismissively in the air. "The clothes will sell themselves as long as they're shown well."

Standing, she looks him over once more. Carefully assessing. 

"This way." 

Should he follow, he's led into a room that's setup to do test shoots. Should he follow. Please! Tiffany could lead Donald straight off a cliff right now and he'd likely follow along.

"In the closet. Find something and put it on. We'll see how you do."

Doing as told, Donald moves to the closet, pulls off his shirt and reaches for one of the unique Tiffany line tops. 

"Top only or a full outfit," he asks as he pulls the shirt gently into place over his frame. And no modesty. Can't afford it in this line of work. Tiffany smirks. There's no helping it. It's completely unprofessional and yet... Silvery eyes twinkle... 

"If you want to model just a top, tis entirely you choice."

Turning back to the set, her head tilts and her eyes narrow. 

"Hm... Background... Oh!" And there she goes, into a small closet.

Oh hell no! Donald grins, fiendish little thing, and finds a pair of pants that goes with the top. Must show her that he can at least mix and match well enough. Pants chosen, Donald efficiently strips then redresses, finding shoes to go with everything as he makes his way toward Tiffany while still fastening his pants... her pants..? Something.

When Tiffany emerges, she's carrying a rolled up backdrop in both arms. "This should be perfect. Never found someone to pull it off but... Perhaps you'll manage..."

Walking over to the set, the designer goes up on tiptoes to hang the drop and then starts to unroll it. What is laid out is a deep lake, a clear night sky and lightning striking in the background. "A boardwalk will be digitally added, of course. So... Let's see what you can do..."

Donald takes in the scene and nods once. His eyes focus, their color edging toward stormy and dark as he gets himself into the right headspace. A storm. There are so many things in a storm. Anger. Fear. Loneliness. Love. Peace. Power. He moves to the marker on the floor of the set, turns toward Tiffany and begins. Stepping back out of the way, Tiffany allows Donald to do what he must to get to where he needs to be.

Anger's the easy one. He lets his eyes narrow, sharpens the lines of his jaw and parts his lips slightly. He rolls his shoulders, tensing the muscles in his body in a slow wave, like the way thunder would sound across a rolling grassland. Donald imagines the heavy falling heavy upon him, imagines the cold stinging droplets fueled by his wrath. He pulls his brows downward, lets his upper lip twitch in an almost sneer, while widening his eyes just enough that an expert camera man could catch it. The way his chin is angled, the sudden light against his irises forces the blue to flare and flash.

At some point during all of this, a blonde man who resembles Errol Flynn too much to be straight has come in and taken up position behind the camera. It's to him that she speaks. "Capture all he gives you."

"Sure, Tif. I got him."

Tiffany smirks and shakes her head, turning back to the set. Biting down on her bottom lip, she frowns. "Something is off..."

"His hair..."

"What?" Donald's looked over carefully before she nods. "You're right..." Walking over to him, she reaches up and pauses. "May I?"

Never be so prideful or vain over your body that you are unwilling to change it all at a designer's whim. Rule number something something and something of modelling. Donald nods once, relaxing from having coaxed forward all that anger for the first pose he took.. well, first few. Donald was sure there were at least four usable somethings in that short sequence. It already has his adrenaline going and his heart thumping a bit harder in his chest.

Smiling, Tiffany reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair. Her brows knit together for a second, hands stilling. "Odd..." Her head is given a little shake to clear and then she tussles his hair. "The wind blown look works well for you."

From behind the camera comes, "Hey Tif? Would you act as a stand in next round?"

This sets her to grumbling playfully as she starts to step away. "You're a pain, dear friend. I hope you know that."

"You should see what I can do in a fan," Donald quips lightly, lips smirking and eyes dancing. Stand in? Double shoot? With the designer? Interesting. Was the designer also a former model herself? Nor unheard of but... it did make Donald a bit tenser. After all, she knows what she's looking for. She's been through it. If she was a model herself, that is. 

Pushing it from his mind, Donald turns his mind back to the task at hand, re-summons the anger, replays that last run and then expands. A few shots of snarling, of sneering, of chin down front to the camera eyes smoldering, and then Donald moves to the next emotion: No, not fear. That's too hard a jump from Anger, but Power isn't. Power comes from that chin down, which Donald shifts from Anger to Power by letting one corner of his mouth pull upwards in an arrogant sort of smirk.

 

It's out before she can stop it. Silvery blue leans more towards blue and sparkle in amusement. "Oh please..." It sounds... playful?

A laugh comes from behind the camera. "Perfect! Keep that." And then the camera goes off several times. "Go change, Tif. A gown."

The playful tone brings an almost shudder that nearly breaks Donald's concentration. The directions given to him by the photographer has him widening the smile to battle the lack of concentration. He keeps his eyes on Tif until she's behind hte camera again, at which point the model glares down the lens.

 

Tif sighs and reaches out to ruffle the photographers hair. "Fine. Fine." Muttering, she makes her way over to a closet similar to the one Donald had gotten into. What is pulled out is a gown of silver and blue with a low back, no sleeves and a slit up the left leg. And she's as bashful about changing as he was.

Smirking at the interactions, from behind the camera of course, there's a shake of blonde hair followed by a chuckle. "Finally got her to agree. She belongs in front of the camera. Even if she doesn't believe it."

"Telling me she didn't model?" Donald asks, head tilting to one side as he pulls the smile back to an arrogant and smug half grin, arms folding over his chest. His tilts one hip backwards, shifting his body to give the camera a different prespective. Take that random green eyed competition! This turned into a photoshoot! Job's as good as his. Donald grins with pride, using that to channel toward the camera.

 

"Never. I keep trying to convince her. She always refuses. Until today... Now, see if you can get her to smile too. You make it and I owe you one." 

The last bit of Tif getting ready takes only a moment. As she's undoing her hair so it cascades down her back, she huffs. "I can hear you just fine, you know..."

Kitten heels are slipped into and soon, she's making her way back to Donald's side. "I have never modeled, no. I do better on the otherside of things."

A warm laugh, which Donald turns into this deep chests sound so that it can read in the camera is given.

"Challenge accepted," quips the male model with a sly wink at the camera. Tif's retort has him chuckling again. Donald turns to look at Tif, already calling up that gentle 'first time' smile he gives to those fresh young models on their first double shoots when his eyes spot her and he freezes. A heartbeat of 'wow...' and Donald tries to find the way to salvage that sudden school boy expression he felt on his face. umm...

 

A piece of hair is tucked back behind her ear. Almost shyly despite the confidence is her posture. Her eyes... Always her eyes... They hold so mych uncertainty. "I... Don't know... What I'm doing," is whispered. "I need your help..."

Meanwhile, the camera is going off like mad, catching e very moment of it.

Donald's a little embarassed to admit it but those words might have made a certain little hammer of his twitch up and take notice. Happens everytime with new models. He just can't help it. Especially if it's a doubles undergarments or swimsuit shoot. Donald always takes extra care with those. His arms unfreeze and he holds out a hand.

"It's alright. I'll move you to the right angles,"Donald offers gently, smiling tenderly. Love, that's the emotion to summon. He just has to be careful, unlike last time. That poor little brown haired nerdy looking girl fell hard for that smile. He felt stalked.

 

There's a moment when Tiffany hesitates before letting her hand come to rest in his. While soft, she's clearly no spoiled woman. There's a few minor calluses starting. She's used to working with her hands. "Thank you. I'm not used to... Asking for help." A deep breath is taken and she steadies herself. "Shall we?"

The camera continues to click rapidly. "Absolutely amazing. Just keep talking. Move occasionally. Pretend I'm not here..."

Voyuer and Exhibitionist. And Tif caught in between. 

Donald nods, giving Tif a softer smile. He reaches up with a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers against her face from chin to ear, following the line of her jawbone.

"I understand. Just let me know if you feel uncomfortable with anything, where your limits are. He'll let us know if there's a certain mood he's after for the clothes," Donald says as he half steps so that he's behind Tif. His chest drags across her arm to cax her to turn to face the camera a bit more.  
\--------- New Activity ---------

The caress causes her to frown slightly and reach up to grab his wrist. "Don't. Direct your false emotions at the camera. Not me." Luckily, tuening to look away from him means she turned the way he wanted.

The camera stops clicking. "Tif...? What's going on? This isn't like you...?"

When the camera stops going and the photographer sounds worried, Donald brings his hands up in a not-armed gesture and takes a step away from the Designer. No way, no how is he going to fuck this gig up. He flicks his gaze at Mr. Flynn, looking for guidance.  
\--------- New Activity ---------

"I just... Haven't been sleeping well lately. Dreams keeping me up. I apologize. I'll leave you gentlemen to your work."

Flynn sighs. "Again? Don't fret. We're due for a thunderstorm Thursday. You'll sleep then."

Tif chuckles and starts to step away. "Always. The sound... The scent... It calms." She almost smiled.

Turning to Donald, she holds her hand out. "Welcome to Asgard Designs, Mister Blake. We can sign the contract when you're ready."

 

Well. At least he got the job? Donald smiles, though his eyes are more reserved than they had been, and he extends his hand to take the shake. 

"A pleasure to be on board, Miss... um... Tiffany?"

Before Tiffany can even respond, the doors burst open and in walks a round man with bright eyes and red hair. "Lunch.!..has arrived..." The exclamation is said with great pride. And then the man sobers. "Tiffany... His eyes..."

There's a mirthless laugh from the woman. "I know, Vol." Pause. "Join us for lunch, Mister Blake? You should start getting to know people..."

"Sure, I'd love to," Donald replies, looking a bit confused. It's a good look on him as he follows along toward lunch and a contract.

 

He can try to follow. If he can escape the hand Vol is reaching out to lay on his shoulder, he'll succeed. "Wait a minute, lad."

Tif looks at Vol over her shoulder and arches a brow. "Vol...," Her tone holds a hint of warning. Warning that's immediately brushed aside as Vol waves her onward. "We'll be along, lass."

Pause. Sigh. "My office afterwards. And... Don't scare him."

Oh no. One never messes with the bearer of lunch. It never ends well for the hungry. And so, Donald smiles as winningly as he can and waits. Scare...? The only tell is the slight widening of his eyes as he looks back over at vol.

 

The big man waits until the room is clear before he begins to speak. "Calm down lad. I ain't gonna fry you up or nothin'. You gonna be part of this place though, you go tta understand somethin'... That woman that just walked out... She ain't as hard as she pretends to be and we're all protective of her. I ain't ever seen her this far off her game before. You take it easy on her. You get me, son?"

Oh boy! Donald's eyes widen and the grey in his irises shrinks back like a frightened thing. He nods sagely, throat going tense.

"Yeah, sure. Of course. No problem," he seems to stmamer.

 

A nod and then a clap on the back. "Good! Now you go one back to her office. I'll have somethin' sent in for ya." Another pause. "And boy... Don't look so scared. It won't impress her..." And then he's left on his own.

In her office, Tiffany stands in front of a small mirror off to one side of the room as she attempts to rebraid her hair. All the while grumbling about 'stupid storm colored eyes.'.

Donald nods, takes a breath, steels himself, and walks to the office, once more looking calm, self possessed and assured. He knocks twice and waits.

 

There's a part of Tif that considers not answering the knock... Seconds later, the door swings open. "Mister Blake, please come in. I've pulled a standard year contract but there's minor adjustments I would discuss with you. .."

There's atwist in Donald's stomach at the word adjustments. It typically doesn't bode well for the model. But he nods, smile sliding to something more professional. 

"Of course," he replies as he closes the door gently and follows his new boss in.

 

Tiffany settles herself in her chair and motions for Donald to sit in his previous one as well. "Our standard contract is for a single year and our models are typically given a small salary as well as commisions from the first shoot of endorsement ads. I'd like to sign you for a minimum of five years and give you a salary that your comfortable having to stay exlusive to this company."

Donald's surprise reads clearly, his business face cracking like spun sugarwork. 

"Five? Exclusive? Umm... Yes, sure. I.. thank you, Miss... Tiffany," he stumbles to get out, shock playing the biggest role.

 

Donald nods, reaching out to take the contract. Forcing himself calm, Donald reads it over, rereading several parts to make sure he understands it all. All the while, reeling. Five years. Exclusive. The salary was easily what he was making currently with the random gigs, and then some. And the contract assured him of steady work with the company. It was too good topass up.

"Gotta pen?"

There's a smirk from Tif as she pushes a pen at him. "You're one of the best I've ever seen, Mister Blake. You conjure emotions very well and the camera will love it. We have enough fir today but I'll want you back here by nine tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am," Donald says smoothly as he signs his name to the contract. His agency will be proud. He's really proud. That green eyed guy can take a flying...

A brow lifts but Tiffany says nithing as she takes the contract and files it away. "I'm assuming Vol gave you the 'she's our girl' speech. Don't let him intimidate you. He's made it his job to be everyone's father..."

Donald chuckles, blue-grey eyes looking up and trying to study Tiffany's expression. "Yes, actually. It was very endearing. Really made this feel like a family, you know?"

No expression per se. The inly readable thing is her eyes. Hope... fear... confusion... "I'm glad you feel that way. We all try to look out for one another here." Pause. "And Amy seems to have taken quite the liking to you. She'll be ecstatic that you've signed."

"Amy seems really nice," Donald allows with a smile, blue eyes searching grey ones. He's not really sure what else to say here.


End file.
